


Nine Ladies Dancing

by Notabluemaia



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing, M/M, possibilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notabluemaia/pseuds/Notabluemaia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost Christmas, 1999, and everyone needs a break from filming. But there’s more to these hobbits than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Ladies Dancing

  
  
**Nine Ladies Dancing**  
  
“It’s the Nine that nailed us.” Elijah’s voice was muffled as he shimmied the white blouse over his head.  
  
“Well, they could’ve stuck the Ringwraiths with it. Should’ve.” Sean stared mournfully at himself in the trailer’s all-too-revealing mirror.  
  
“That’s just fucking creepy. No one wants to see Nazgul ladies, dancing or otherwise!”  
  
“So the Fellowship goes drag? And that’s better, how?”  
  
“Better than geese a-laying, or maids a-milking!” Elijah emerged smiling from the folds of the blouse, and tugged it down, shoving it under the waistband of the voluminous skirt. “Anyway, we were a fucking shoe-in with our pretty elf and his golden tresses.”  
  
“Well, I heard that ‘inquiring minds’ want to know if Frodo’s really ‘fairer than most’. Most of the Fellowship, anyway. So say Fran and Philippa. Inquiring minds, _and_ prurient screenwriters. Just have _fun_ with it, they said, and _we’ll_ decide Who’s Prettiest.” Sean duplicated their blandly innocent tones to perfection.  
  
“Is that right?” Elijah raised a skeptical brow. “So the Fellowship – hell, _I_ – got ‘cast’? To the fucking lions, sounds like.”  
  
“Exactly. See, we can blame it all on _you_!”  
  
“Quit your bitching, Samwise! What’ve _you_ got to complain about? I’ve gotta _sing_ , too!” Elijah held up one hand, counting off fingers for emphasis. “Isildur, Bilbo, Gollum, Sauron, Deagol, and Frodo makes five. ‘The Golden Ringbearers’. How the hell did Sam get out of this? ‘For you _were_ a Ringbearer, too’!”  
  
“Just lucky, I guess. Or maybe they heard me sing?”  
  
“You sing just fine!”  
  
“Hmm. Well, there _was_ a sort of audition, and somehow I had this terrible frog…”  
  
“You _threw_ it?”  
  
“Maybe just a little.” Sean managed an expression of affronted innocence as he turned to regard his ample profile. He shook his head. “At least _you_ won’t look like Mrs. Doubtfire!”  
  
“You look fucking bee-yoo-tiful!” Elijah smirked as he glanced up and down Sean’s widely costumed figure. Skirts, three layers; long sleeves, pushed to his elbows for now; full apron; and soon, the grey curling wig waiting amidst tumbled makeup to cover Sean’s tawny hair. “Actually, you make a very fine hobbit lady. We’ll just see who gets the most dances, or numbers tucked in his – erm, _her!_ – pocket!”  
  
Sean shook his head, grinning. “Brat. You’ve won that one already. Thirty pounds puts me firmly – or not so firmly – in the matronly set. But you just wait till this fat marathon’s done. If I ever – and believe me, I don’t plan to – agree to another Twelve Days party, I’ll at least _qualify_ for the Who’s Prettiest competition!”  
  
“Yeah, you would, dude, for sure. You do, now!”  
  
“Why, thank you, Mr. Frodo, sir!”  
  
“My bet’s on Orlando tonight, though.”  
  
“Hmm. He’s pretty enough, without a thing. I mean, without a costume. But I did hear him asking Wardrobe for something slinky and _diaphanous_!”  
  
Elijah snorted and grinned back. “Sexy elf! He’s got it, for sure.”  
  
“So we don’t even have to bother?”  
  
“Nice try, but it’s too late for that! Can’t wait to see our manly men as ladies, let alone dancing! Bean and John—”  
  
“And Viggo?”  
  
“No fucking way Viggo’s gonna live his way into _this_ character! But Ian – he’s game. Whatever he’s coming as, it’s a secret – couldn’t get it out of anybody, though Bean sort of mouthed _panto_ at him, today. Said something about a dame, too, and I don’t think he meant a broad.’ He shrugged at yet another unknown British expression. “Whatever. He could vamp, even in Gandalf’s beard.”  
  
“I’ve seen him do it.”  
  
“Ewwww! Missed that! But they’ll all give it a go. Good sports, and all that.” Elijah finished buttoning the skirt and reached for the wide black bodice. He pulled it into place around his waist and struggled briefly with the fastenings. Hooks and eyes and long silky ribbon threaded decoratively through tiny grommets, with rope-like sturdy laces dangling in back. “Dammit… C’mon, lace me up, my pretty maid!”  
  
Sean swatted at him, but bent to peer at the fiddly hardware, managed to push each through, and then smoothed one hand along Elijah’s straight waist. “This is going to hurt you more than it does me!” He gave a sly grin as he shoved a knee into Elijah’s back and hauled on the support laces, yanking sharply enough that Elijah gasped.  
  
“Not so tight! How in the hell am I supposed to breathe in this thing?”  
  
“Patience. It’s gotta be tight to give you any shape at all. It’s not like you’ve got anything to push out over the top! No hips to speak of, either, despite this—” A thwack to Elijah’s rounded rump was sharp enough to elicit a yelp of surprise, despite the padding of thick fabric.  
  
“Hey! What the fuck’s _that_ for?”  
  
“For Frodo’s part in getting us this little holiday assignment!” Sean’s eyes twinkled.  
  
“Frodo’s fault! Not _mine_! Hmmph!” Elijah’s tone was indignant as he assessed himself critically in the mirror. “Well, hell. Definitely no boobs, and this bodice really needs… Hmm… Thank you, Hannah!” He leaned forward to grab a handful of tissues, pulling the laces out of Sean’s hands.  
  
“Hold still, hobbit boy.”  
  
“That would be ‘ _Mr._ Frodo’ to you. Or ‘Miss’.” Elijah fluttered his lashes briefly, then added, “Wait a sec, Sean. Let me try...” He scrunched the tissues and stuffed them under the gathered neckline of the blouse. “That do it?”  
  
“Not quite. Here, let me…” Sean reached around Elijah’s shoulder and slipped his hand beneath the blouse, fingers outstretched, sliding down over skin to find the improvised pad.  
  
Elijah squirmed, and his hand flew to cover Sean’s. “Tickles!”  
  
“Yeah, hold still! You’re lopsided. And I can see the edge of that pad.” Sean withdrew his hand to shape several tissues to roundness, then carefully slid them to add to Elijah’s assets, securing the lower edges beneath the top of the corset. “Hold them in place, while I finish this.” Elijah dutifully cupped his hands over the makeshift breasts as Sean pulled the laces tight, tied a neat bow, and stepped back to survey the effect.  
  
“Well? Does _that_ do it?”  
  
“If _do it_ means ‘does it look like Elijah in a hobbitlass costume’, then yes. If it means, ‘do _you_ look like a lady, dancing or otherwise’? Nope. Not without curls and make-up.”  
  
“Often as it’s been hinted, that’s actually kind of a relief.” Elijah dropped into the makeup chair, slumped back and frowned at his reflection, then looked to Sean’s, standing behind him.  
  
“Has it? Looking feminine? Yeah, I suppose it would be. I can see why they might say it. I’m not that much bigger than you, though, I’m just more filled out – even when I’m not carrying Sam along with me. It’ll come, you’ll see. I don’t see you as feminine, Elijah, and that’s definitely not how you _are_! It’s – I don’t know – your skin, your nose… not to mention the eyes…” Sean’s list trailed off as he stared at Elijah’s eyes, reflected in the mirror. His hand fell from Elijah’s face where he’d been reaching around, gesturing to each feature as he spoke.  
  
“It’s ok, Sean. Really.” Elijah’s gaze dropped and he frowned.  
  
Sean looked hard at him. “It’s bothering you, isn’t it? Just how far do you want to go with this dress-up thing, Lij? It’s just some fun for the holidays.”  
  
“Well, I don’t want to be… a drag.” His lips twisted to a wry smile.  
  
Sean groaned and rolled his eyes, then met Elijah’s in the mirror.  
  
“Dom’s doing nails and eyeliner, kind of a Goth hobbitlass. And Billy said he’ll wear a boa with a kilt – not his own clan, of course – but that’s as far as he’s going.” Elijah hesitated, looked to hands, and picked at a rough edge on one thumbnail. “It’s good for some laughs before we split.”  
  
“Which we all could use. Been a long haul, hasn’t it?” Sean took Elijah by the shoulders and turned him around in the chair to face him. He frowned at what he saw, and lifted his hand to Elijah’s face. “You ok, Lij?”  
  
“Yeah. Just a little tired. This’ll be fun…” He raised his eyes to meet Sean’s and added brightly, “And no fucking pre-dawn Feet tomorrow!”  
  
“But?”  
  
“It’ll be good to get home. No feet, no costumes. No more masks. No one caring how I look, so long as I’m ok. Make sure my mom and Hannah are doing as fine as they _say_ they are without me around. Make sure they even _know_ me anymore, that all this hasn’t changed me more’n I think it has...” Elijah’s voice trailed off; he shook his head. “Hey, this sucks. I don’t mean to be so depressing. You’re just as tired, Sean, and maybe even more eager to get home than me.”  
  
Sean nodded slowly. “Yeah…Yes, it’s been way too long since I’ve had enough time with Ally…”  
  
“Damn right!”  
  
“Tomorrow, we’re back. To whatever we left behind.” Sean hesitated, then spoke softly. “It’s been… intense. We’re all worn out, and need a break. Lij, you don’t need _me_ to tell you this, but I’m gonna, anyway. You’ve done amazing work here. You’ve brought Frodo to life, like no one else could have. Like they say, Frodo _lives_.”  
  
Elijah looked up, his brows lifted, and his lips curved around an ‘O’ of surprise.  
  
Sean smiled. “There’s a helluva lot more to this hobbit than meets the eye. Hey, didn’t someone tell you that already?”  
  
“Yeah. Well, told my alter ego, anyway. He had a Bad Moment there, too, huh? Worse than any I’ve ever known. But I’m fine, Sean. Really. Thanks to my own Samwise. You make it easy… to be his Frodo.” He raised his hand to capture Sean’s, resting lightly on his shoulder.  
  
“Well… seems to me, you and I were meant to be here.” Sean cleared his throat, and pulled his hand from Elijah’s warm grasp. Narrowed blue eyes gazed closely at him. “I mean for Frodo, and for Sam.”  
  
“Yeah. For them.” Elijah clapped his hands to his thighs and aimed a bright grin at his reflection.. “So… So, the party thing. Use all my alleged girlish charms to pull it off?”  
  
“Sure. Go for it.” Sean stepped away from Elijah’s chair, reaching for the matronly grey wig. With his back to Elijah and mirror both, he tugged it on, somewhat askew.  
  
“Ok. Here goes.” Elijah reached for the toner, poured it liberally on a cotton ball, and started scrubbing at his face as Sean turned around.  
  
“Hey, not so hard, there, Miss Frodo, or you’ll be blushing all night.”  
  
Elijah looked at the cotton ball as though he hadn’t seen it. “Oh, yeah…”  
  
“Here, give me that, before you scrub yourself raw.” Sean grinned and took the cotton from Elijah. He twirled an imaginary mustache. “Leave it to me. Just sit back, my pretty!”  
  
“That sounds a little too Wicked Witch for comfort!” Elijah leaned back in the familiar chair. “Uhm, Sean, this isn’t gonna fucking hurt, is it?”  
  
“Not even your pride.” Sean rummaged through the basket of Frodo makeup, talking to himself as Elijah smiled, watching him. “The hair’ll cover your throat and jaw line. They’re not your most fem— I mean, _androgynous_ features. Your Frodo wig accents them more than this one.” Sean laid one hand on Elijah’s hair, threading his fingers through the thick curving strands, then sleeked them back as Elijah settled the wig securely.  
  
“That helps.” Elijah tilted his head from side to side, long curls slithering against his neck and over his bared shoulders coquettishly.  
  
“Enough, wench! Here.” Sean put a steadying hand on Elijah’s chin and tipped his face toward the lights. “What _do_ they do to your skin?”  
  
“Damned if I know – rub something that smells nice, then make-up. I sure as hell don’t do anything to it. Just let it be.”  
  
“Well, whatever you’re _not_ doing ought to be patented. Hmm. Not much needed, maybe just enough moisturizer for a glow.” Sean uncapped a small pot and scooped his fingers through fragrant cream. “Does smell good.” He held his fingertips to Elijah’s nose for an appreciative whiff, then stroked his cheek, his chin, his brow, massaging gentle circles.  
  
“That’s it. Mmmm… yeah, feels good, too.” Elijah’s eyes closed, his head dropped back, and he sighed. “Don’t stop…”  
  
With both hands, Sean smoothed a last stroke from ear to collarbone, and let his thumbs rest, for only a few seconds, still and gentle over the fast pulsing hollow of Elijah’s throat. Sean closed his eyes and his brow creased, and the moment stretched out, almost to peace, before he spoke. “Sorry. We have to— Places to go, you know. People to see and be seen by.”  
  
“Yes. I know.” Elijah rolled his head on the headrest, stretching as Sean turned away to wipe his hands on a tissue. His hands were clasped upon his lap, but he no longer picked at the ragged cuticle.  
  
“Feel better?” Sean’s back was to Elijah as he busied himself searching in the make-up basket.  
  
“Yeah, I do. Thanks.” Elijah released the clench of his fists, took a deep breath and sat up straighter.  
  
“Need more color on those lips. Pucker up, Miss Frodo.” A lip brush daubed the same rose that darkened Frodo’s lips, more heavily than was usually applied. Sean rubbed a dot of shine on the center of the full lower one, and continued talking softly to himself, maintaining objectivity about his task through the focus of patter.  
  
“Now let me think… It’s been a while since I’ve done theater! Hmm. Nothing on the brows. Dark enough, nice arch. Hmm. Eyes, oh yes, play those up, for sure. A little of this pale shadow… And something neutral…” Sean brushed the soft camel hair through warm greenish powder and turned back to Elijah, who’d roused himself to watch. “Ok, close.” A feather touch whisked over the crease, and Sean smoothed the delicate skin with a finger, then bent close to blow away the residue of fine powder with several gentle puffs.  
  
Elijah opened his eyes. Sean’s face was barely inches above his own, his lips pursed as he blew sweet breaths over Elijah’s face. But his next caught in his chest – and the very air around them stilled to the silence of their heartbeats. Elijah’s brows knit, and black eclipsed the blue of his eyes as he looked up to gold flecks embedded in green, so close, so close, hovering only a breath, less than a hand’s span, above his face. His hands lifted from his lap to cup Sean’s cheeks, and the air shimmered between hazel and blue.  
  
Sean’s quick intake of air pulled him reflexively away from the warmth radiating from Elijah’s face, but with his next breath he was pulled back as surely as a magnet to true north. He leaned close, closer. Soft lips opened beneath his and they breathed each other’s breath.  
  
“Ohhh…” The moment pivoted on a sigh – and decision floated upon the air between them.  
  
To fall into the kiss, deeper and deeper, to rise to meet it – and Elijah’s back arched as he lifted his face to Sean’s. Lips, tender tongues tentative and tangling. Strong arms wrapped around Sean’s neck, pulling him…  
  
Or, to release, to resist, to restore _friend_ to what should – and would – be _lover_?  
  
Sean braced himself upon the arm of the chair, and with one hand caressed the bared column of Elijah’s throat, even as he pushed himself sighing away, and back – lips brushing lingeringly upward to the tip of his nose, past lashes drifting black over cheeks blushed pink – to press a chaste and tender kiss upon Elijah’s brow.  
  
“Merry Christmas, me dear.” It was Sam’s warmest voice, heated by Sean’s own desire.  
  
“And to you, my Seanwise.” The wonder of revelation threaded through the newly-blended name as Elijah pressed his fingertips to Sean’s lips.  
  
Sean sank to his knees before Elijah, his cheeks caressed between Elijah’s hands, flown to frame his face even as he let him go. He took each small, square hand, and folded them together between his own.  
  
“One more step— and it’ll be farther than we’ve ever gone, or thought to go.”  
  
“Only a matter of time, and will.” Elijah’s voice was clear, unshaken; his expression calm, and as determined as Frodo’s.  
  
“I don’t know these steps, Elijah. If time and will can teach me, I swear…” A deep breath, and Sean lifted Elijah’s hands to his lips once again, then laid them, unresisting, upon his lap.  
  
“But time now to dance _this_ dance, to steps that we don’t call.” Sean rose, pulling Elijah to stand beside him, and they looked from each other to the hobbits side by side in the mirror – a drop-dead gorgeous brunette hobbitlass, and a matron whose grey curls had not yet been set securely over escaping tawny wisps.  
  
“Looks good, Sean. Not much of _me_ shows, but that’s even better.”  
  
“They say less is more. Actually, that’s what my… never mind.”  
  
“Yeah. Well. It’s enough.”  
  
“For now. For now. Ready, Lij?”  
  
“I am.” Elijah shook his head. “But you’re not. C’mere – _my_ turn to play lady’s maid!”  
  
Bobbing a mock curtsey, he pushed Sean down into the chair and turned it so he faced the mirror. Straightening the lopsided wig with careful fingers, he tucked stray wisps of Sean’s own hair safely under the harsh grey curls, and when he caught Sean’s eyes in the mirror, he smiled. ‘Now _you’re_ beautiful, me dear,’ was nearly in Sam’s accents as he held out a hand to pull Sean up. “Come on – now we _are_ both ready.”  
  
“Yes. Let us go together, me dear, and dance!” 


End file.
